Convergence 1: Broken
by rhapsodisiac
Summary: Seifer x Squall x Zell -- After completing a rescue mission at D-District prison, our boys are lost alone in the desert, with Squall in need of constant care and his companions eager to give him much more than that. (hc, fluff, yaoi, angst)
1. Pain

1. Pain   
  
His arm brushed cold steel as he rolled over in his sleep, summoning prickles of goosebumps to scatter beneath the fine hairs of his forearm. It stirred him enough to take a deep gasp of breath and loll his head to one side, his skull grinding sweat-matted hair against a smooth, shallow projection, nothing more than the rock-hard suggestion of a pillow. A few seconds passed, and he shook with a violent shiver that rolled him over onto his side. An immediate hissing cry fell from his lips, waking him in an instant to clutch at his shoulder and return to his back. Eyes now open, they found the ceiling. All recognition of pain was instantly forgotten as his breath caught.   
  
It was black, the result of decades of collected grime, and lightened to a steely grey as the rounded walls met the floor. Pipes snaked around one another above him; headless, writhing predators. He jumped forwards, locking his elbows to support himself. The door, with its single, diagonal orange stripe; the few strange lights that blinked orange and green around it; the filthy, rusted latrine in the corner: all were horrifying. All were familiar. Even the air's stale, damp reek of time was familiar as it crept into his lungs, chilling him from the inside.   
  
He knew exactly where he was. Knew it, and could barely manage to force the words into his mind: D-District. He shuddered and swung his legs over the side of the metal bunk, rubbing at his shoulder tenderly-- it had begun to throb rapidly with the heightened pace of his heart. He figured, judging by the kind of pain it was and how the area felt beneath his fingertips, that a ligament had been torn. Of course, he couldn't remember how; the place seemed to have an aura of forced amnesia. He didn't know how he had gotten there, or why. A likely theory was that someone had cast a confuse on him before he was captured; he vaguely remembered being knocked out as a child in training, in the throes of a confuse spell, to awaken in the infirmary and not remember what had happened for three days afterwards.   
  
He forced a cynical chuckle-- Seifer had done it, and laughed at him as he stumbled around, spouting gibberish and throwing potions at trees. He had finished his tantrum by casting his only blizzaga (a gift from Shiva that he had been saving) on himself, knocking himself so close to death that the infirmary's phoenix down almost hadn't worked.   
  
The lights went out, jerking him from his reminiscence. This hadn't happened last time, he remembered, alarmed as he stared blindly around in the dark. A power outage? The doors were all powered electronically, he remembered just as his chamber's floor shuddered, driving a spike of fear into his throat. It seemed that the outage-- if that was what it was-- was exclusive to his cell. He could feel himself moving downwards quickly, making his body feel lighter. He had to try to get out; someone would likely be coming for him quite soon, and who knew what barbaric practices could befall him then? He jumped blindly for the door, struggling to push it to the side with his palms. It seemed to budge, and he didn't bother questioning whether this was just his imagination. If he could get it open far enough, perhaps he could squeeze through and jump to one of the circular floors.   
  
The cell clattered to a stop and the door sprung across its frame, bringing in a bright crack of flourescent light to blind him. He stumbled forward in the absence of what he'd been leaning on--right into the strong arms of someone else.  
  
"S-seifer?" He asked aloud, a mere memory stirring between his lips as his face crushed starchy fabric.  
  
"Who the fuck is that?" The voice above him was male, rough, and deeper than he had expected. He internally smacked himself for being so embarassingly deluded. A hand grabbed the back of his shirt collar, spinning him around and sending him into the steel bed he had awoken on. The hard edge jabbed into his stomach, taking all his breath, and he fell forward upon it as he struggled to suck in some air.   
  
He heard fast clicking steps behind him, then weight upon his back as the intruder's hands grasped at his wrists, pinning him to the surface of the bed. He coughed at the pain in his shoulder and hoped it hadn't been completely dislocated by the sudden jerk. A harsh hiss invaded his left ear. "You think someone's coming to rescue you?" He chuckled, sheeting the side of Squall's face with the stench of stale breath. He didn't answer, just waited, keeping his senses alert and ignoring the excruciating strain arcing through his arm. "I promise, you'll get to be all alone here for a long time. Lots of time to think. I do wish I could stay...You're a rare one in this place; actually worth spending some time with." The man pushed his hips forward then, grinding into Squall's backside. Instinctual panic filled him and he struggled, tugging at his arms, but he only succeeded in forcing himself back harder upon the horrifying bulge behind him. Another chuckle, and then teeth momentarily caught his earlobe as sandpaper stubble scratched his neck. "Don't worry, I can't do any more... yet. This time I've just been sent to..." He paused, seeming to search for the right words, "help you get some peace and quiet. If you want to call it that." He then tightened his grip on Squall's wrists and raised his voice, "Pain."  
  
Squall slumped, pressing a cheek to the steel as his field of vision went black. He felt sick to his stomach, and cold sweat broke his forehead as his temples began to pound. He would have groaned with the pain, but found he could make no sound at all. The voice rose in his ear again, "I had this cast on me once... isn't it great? Like being skullfucked with a knife. Regen." For an instant the aching in Squall's head and stomach disappeared, only to return seeming worse than it had been at first. "That was just so you, y'know, don't die on us in here." With a final hip-thrust the man's weight released him. He slumped to his hands and knees upon the dirty floor as another wave of nausea overtook him, followed by more painlessness. Realizing that he would eventually throw up, he began to crawl shakily in the direction of the toilet, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder. "Hold on a minute, kiddo," loomed the voice from above him as a boot slammed onto his hand. He winced as the nausea came back in unison, his knees buckling and then giving out, leaving him sprawled in the floor with his face in filth. His chest heaved beneath the weight of his own body. "I've gotta fuck you with this here needle first," the voice spat, sounding like a grin, "I almost forgot." More panic ensued, but now, Squall could barely make himself move. "Don't worry, little one. It's just an expression." With that a prick of pain surged into his right buttock, accompanied by the sound of tearing fabric. His hips twitched forward into the floor, tensing with the jolt as he winced. After a few seconds, that pain was gone, leaving a dull, spreading ache in its wake. "There we go. That wasn't so bad, was it?" The man paused, as if expecting an answer. "Oh wait, that's right. Never mind. I'll see you later, gorgeous." The foot lifted from his hand and clicked with its companion across the floor, silencing when the door closed.   
  
Squall was alone once more, wishing he'd had the presence of mind to get a glimpse of the man's face before he was pinned. The hurt went away again, keeping him from getting used it, and came back a minute later, ever harsher. He promptly threw up on the floor beside him as his brain began to get fuzzy. The hum of the fluorescent lights above became distant and finally disappeared, along with the cold floor and the pain that wracked his body as he fell into unconscious bliss.

----------------


	2. Discovery

2. Discovery   
  
"Hyne's tits," A familiar lewd voice fell down to his ears from a great distance. "What the fuck is this? Hey." Squall felt a nudge jab into his side, alerting his body to the poison and bringing nausea over him again. Another nudge, and he tried to groan, then lifted his head when he remembered he couldn't. "No time for this shit..." The voice muttered, nearer now as his mind sharpened, and his heart jumped at the realization of to whom it belonged: Seifer. Either here to kill him, or here to take him. "Where the hell is your coat? Oh. There." Steps made their way to the corner, fabric rustled, and then the pressure of two hands found his waist, lifting him to his knees. He retched dryly at the movement, his stomach now too empty to produce anything. "Shit, will you hang on? Wreck my coat and you're paying for the dry cleaning." He found himself hoisted over a shoulder, putting constant pressure on his stomach and sending a rush of blood to his already throbbing head. He let his arms dangle down Seifer's back as the young man held onto his legs, too exhausted to struggle. Truly, he was glad he wasn't expected to walk by himself, and somewhat ashamed not being able. Gravity shifted; a series of thumps began to rattle his gut: Seifer was walking. He supposed they had exited the cell, as he heard the distant screech of a security alarm.  
  
"Seif, what's wrong with him?" Zell rushed around from the other side of the hall, obviously worried as he effortlessly decked a couple of gunblade-weilding guards when passing them. Lionheart hung in its sling from around his waist for safekeeping.  
  
"I dunno. Found him in a puddle of his own puke." Seifer didn't skip a step as he headed for the stairs.   
  
"Oh... shit..." Zell leaned down, trying to get a good look at Squall's face. "He's not--"  
  
"No, you idiot, he's not dead. Think I'd bother carrying him back out if he was?"  
  
Zell didn't respond right away; he was busy in the middle of a fight with a larger guard. He dodged a swipe of the man's gunblade and landed a hard right to his jaw, breaking the bone and knocking him out. "Conscious?" He asked, barely out of breath as they made their way down the stairway.  
  
"Yeah. But he can't fight."  
  
"Cast a Scan, figure out what's up."  
  
"Magic's blocked, chicky. Remember?"  
  
""Aw..." Zell groaned with disappointment. "We were supposed to have his help getting out."  
  
"No shit. And now I can barely fight 'cause I have to carry the leaden fuck."  
  
"I don't know if we can get back, Seif. There'll be a hundred times more guards at the bottom, now that the alarm's set off."  
  
Seifer stopped walking. His eyes searched the room for a door. He pressed the button beside the nearest one to be surprised as it opened, and Zell followed him into the empty cell, confused. "Whaddya think you're doing? We've gotta get out of here as fast as--"  
  
"Shut up." Seifer, uncharacteristically careful, knelt and flipped Squall back over his shoulder to place him on the floor. Squall took in a sharp breath in response, wincing. "What's wrong with him?" he commanded.  
  
"Geez, I don't--" He caught Seifer's deadly glare and knelt at Squall's other side, "--Well... uh... Has he said anything?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Hey Squall, hey," He nudged his right shoulder. The one that hurt. He jerked his hand away in surprise-- Squall's head tipped back, neck tensed and eyes opened, but no sound came out of him.  
  
"I don't think he can talk, Zelly-boy. Not that that'll be a change--"  
  
"Alright, alright... Hey Squall, look over here," He kept his voice quiet, hoping he wouldn't startle him again. Squall turned his head toward him, his eyes sleepy slits. Good, at least he could hear. "Open 'em more." Peering closely as he did so, he found that Squall wasn't looking directly at him. More alarming, his irises and pupils had both become a milky, blueish white. "Well, here's one of the problems."  
  
"He's blind." Seifer observed.  
  
"Ya think?" Zell rolled his eyes as Seifer displayed his middle finger and then turned back to Squall, touching his arm carefully to get his attention. "Listen, you know the yes-no blinking thing?" It was one of the first procedures they'd been taught in training, at the tender age of nine; by now, it had become universal: One for yes, two for no.  
  
Squall blinked once. Yes. Good, he remembered, which meant he was at least thinking somewhat clearly. "'Kay, you got a tummy-ache?"  
  
"'Tummy ache?" Seifer scoffed, "Who the fuck says 'tummy ache?' You fuckin' dork."  
  
Squall blinked once again as Zell ignored Seifer, who in turn crossed his arms argrily.  
  
"Alright, um... " Zell scratched his head, thinking hard. "Your head hurts too, then, right?"  
  
Another yes.  
  
"Shit..." Zell's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I was thinking that, but it can't--"  
  
"Someone cast Pain on him," Seifer observed simply, placing the evidence in a neat row in his mind.  
  
With great effort, Squall lifted himself into a sitting position and waved his hand about carefully until it brushed Zell's leg.  
  
The blond jumped and stared at him. "Huh? Oh! Geez, what's wrong?"  
  
Squall just kept tapping. "I think he's saying I'm right, per usual." Seifer said, leaning back into the wall and stretching out his legs. With his hands pillowing the back of his head, he looked relaxed enough to doze off. Squall began to nod, just as the Regen's assistance paused. He lurched forward and coughed a few times, eyes wide.   
  
Zell took to his knees, scrambling over and helping him turn to his side with a hand on each of his shoulders. "You really don't look good," he mumbled as Squall continued to cough in an attempt to keep from throwing up again. His clammy shoulders shook continuously beneath Zell's hands; cold sweat had begun to drip down the back of his neck. "Okay... he's poisoned. Why's he still alive then?"  
  
"We don't know how long he was in there."  
  
"Well, I doubt it was less than an hour, and Pain carries some tough poison magic." Some hair had stuck to Squall's forehead and caught in the corners of his mouth; Zell took a second to pull it back and tuck it behind his ear, remembering with a little smile how his own mother had done the same thing when comforting him long ago. "And then... how could they cast it anyway, with the magic block and everything?"  
  
"Maybe they powered it down for a minute. They can do that, you know."  
  
Squall was now breathing deeply as the pain subsided, and tried desperately to move his tongue. It was still rendered useless, plastered to the bottom of his mouth. Regen. He cast Regen. They needed to get out; he didn't know why the pair was taking so much time to fawn over him when they couldn't immediately do anything. Brushing Zell's hands from his shoulders, he brought his legs beneath himself and crouched, finally pushing himself up with his hands on his knees into a standing position to waver with dizziness.  
  
"Woah... Squall, what're ya doin'?" Zell stood with him, cautiously, "I don't think that's a good idea--"  
  
"I don't even think it's a good idea. Sit your ass back down, it's not time to be a hero." Seifer stood as well, eyeing him carefully.  
  
We've got to go. Squall found the wall and, guiding himself along it with his hands, began to make his way to the door. After only a few shaky steps, he ran into the palm of an outstretched hand.  
  
"Don't make me knock you out." Seifer's palm pressed into his chest as though an iron bar was behind it. He wouldn't be able to take another step in his current exhausted state. He leaned back against the wall as a sledgehammer seemed to smack into the middle of his forehead, wincing and sliding down it until he sat again.   
  
Zell absently played with his earlobe as he watched Squall carefully for more possible clues. Squall relaxed suddenly, his head falling to the side as his breath became less laboured. "Woah. What was that?" The mournful look on his face seemed to melt away and he regained some colour in his cheeks.  
  
"What?" Seifer had his gunblade out, and was now lazily turning the point on the tip of his finger.  
  
"Nothing..." Zell watched Squall's face tense up again as his eyes clenched shut. He even made a fist. The small blond's eyes then widened, his mouth falling open. "Regen!" he exclaimed.   
  
"That what's going on?"  
  
"If you have any Esunas left, cast 'em now. And a Dispel to make sure." Zell replied hurriedly.  
  
"It won't work!" Seifer hissed, "What the fuck is your head made of, anyway?"  
  
"It's worth a try," Zell found himself nearly begging, stomach clenched in a knot of anticipation. He regretted having given Seifer all his support magic. "Come on. Maybe it's still down."  
  
Seifer shrugged indifferently and held out his hands in Squall's direction. "Esuna." As he suspected, nothing happened. "I'm not wasting any more; I'll use 'em when we get out."   
  
Zell flopped back down onto the floor, stared absently at his feet, and then his eyes widened. "Wait, waaait..." He began searching his pockets with both hands, clinking glass together. "I have one, I know it... Yes!" A smile spread over his face as he proudly held out a small rounded bottle of green liquid. "Think a remedy'll work?"  
  
Squall shifted, the nausea seeming to subside on the wake of his relief. He could get up and fight, and he could ask them what the hell was going on.  
  
"Try it. You got blinded earlier and it worked."  
  
"I know!" Zell was nearly bouncing up and down with glee. He found that Squall's head had already turned back in his direction, so he scooted over on his bottom and took his chin carefully between his fingers. "Open up; you'll be better in no time." Squall's lips parted invitingly; Zell opened the cap and tipped the full amount between them. He watched Squall's throat move once, twice, and sat back, propped on his arms. "Now all we gotta do is wait."  
  
Ten seconds passed. "For how long, exactly?" Seifer asked with a note of sarcasm.   
  
"I..." Zell's eyebrows met again as his face scrunched up. "I don't know."  
  
Squall wasn't feeling the slightest bit better; he was still shrouded in blackness as he stared forward, still unable to lift his tongue, and the pain in his head and stomach sure hadn't subsided.  
  
"Come on, it's not working." Seifer knew Zell would be willing to wait all night for Squall to get up. Observing the blond's worrisome stare, he added, "Look, if he has Regen on him, he won't die. He can take it."  
  
"But why didn't it work?"  
  
"I don't know either, and we've already been here too long. We're going."  
  
"'Kay." With slumped shoulders Zell stood, and before he could offer any help Seifer had Squall over his shoulder again. "Man, they were torturing the hell out of him without even having to do anything."  
  
"Technically the lazy fuckers still are. Come on." He smirked, "Only seventeen more floors to go."  
  
"Hold on." Zell dug around in his pants pockets, clinking glass together again. "This might help him out. It's my last one, so don't get hurt." He pulled out another vial, this one light blue.  
  
"Me, get hurt? Right." Rather than let Zell uncap it an hold it to Squall's lips, however, Seifer jumped forward (sending another jolt through Squall's stomach) and snatched it from him. "We're saving this. You might need it."  
  
"Seifer!" The hint of a whine touched his voice and his volume lowered as he watched the man slip it into a pocket inside his jacket with his free hand. "We could be wrong, you know."  
  
"Move." He then pulled out Hyperion, figuring Zell wouldn't be able to handle the job himself.  
  
"Fine, but if he's dead by the time we get out, don't expect me to let you live."  
  
Seifer scoffed in reply as he pushed the door's button, and they made their way out into the hall. 


	3. The Journey Begins

3. The Journey Begins   
  
"Of all the stupid shit that could happen, I can't believe you ran out of gas."  
  
"I ran out of gas? Why is it suddenly my responsibility?" Zell squinted into the setting sun, a few drops of sweat running down the back of his neck when he lifted his face. "You were the one that filled the tank, remember?"  
  
Seifer wiped at his forehead with the back of his free hand as the pair trudged on, feet sinking and slipping in so much loose sand. "You were supposed to put an extra canister in the back," he replied, too tired by now from carrying both Squall's and his own weight to raise his voice.   
  
"Says who?"  
  
"If I remember correctly, you volunteered."  
  
Zell shook his head, causing a few extra strands of hair to fall down over his forehead. The gel was giving away quickly. "I don't remember that." His tone faltered, however, unable to disguise a pang of guilt. It was true that he didn't remember, which meant that it was possible he had taken on the responsibility.  
  
"Yeah, figures you wouldn't."  
  
"So, how's Squall doing?" Zell asked tentatively, hoping to change the subject.  
  
"Like a big bag of rocks."  
  
"No, I mean, is he still out?" He grinned a little as a leather hand raised from behind Seifer's back in response and flopped back down. "Oh, good then. Try the Dispel again. We should be far enough away for it to work."  
  
Seifer half-shrugged, too glad for the chace to give his shoulder a break. When laying Squall down in the sand this time, he wasn't so careful. The jolt had Squall gagging again.  
  
"Jeez, will you be careful?"  
  
"No. If this doesn't work, it's your turn to carry him."  
  
"What the hell? I'm already carrying the pack that, I might add, you forgot to take out of the back seat before they blew up the truck."  
  
"Then we'll trade. Esuna."  
  
Nothing happened. Squall remained sprawled on his back, fingers lacing themselves in the sand.   
  
"Did it work?" Zell asked anyway, working hard to maintain a shred of hope.  
  
Squall shook his head and winced, then rolled himself over to his side. To the surprise of his companions, he began pointing at his behind.  
  
Seifer let out a short laugh. "What the hell are you doing?"  
  
Squall's only reply was to tense up his pointing arm. Zell tugged at his hair in thought for a second before his eyes widened in horror. "Oh... fuck..." He knelt, dumping his backpack beside him, and inspected what turned out to be a small tear in the fabric that revealed a spot of blood beneath. "Seifer... thay gave him a shot."  
  
"What do you mean?" Seifer knelt beside Zell, squinting, before the realization came to him as well. "Shit, well, that explains it."  
  
"You really think..." Zell swallowed. "You think it was that?"  
  
"What the hell else would it be? The whole reason he went to that stupid conference in the first place was to talk the bastards into retiring it." He shoved the brunette back over his shoulder and began walking again. "Looks like they didn't want his opinion."  
  
Zell paused, lips parted, before he stood and jogged to catch up with Seifer's long strides. "Serum G-306," he whispered absently as it sank in, then raised his voice, "But... but we don't even know what the hell it does!"  
  
"It keeps all spells cast before the injection from being removed afterwards," he recited, rolling his eyes. "It's only been Squall's single concern since the leak three weeks ago. Miss the memo or something?"  
  
"No! I mean, how long does it last? What about side effects? What if it kills him? They said it was still getting developed."  
  
"Now that we don't know. As for development, seems I'm carrying their most recent test subject."  
  
Zell swallowed again, his throat scratchy and aching. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch Squall's hair as a wave of pity came over him. He wondered how Seifer could be so indifferent.  
  
"What I'd like to know," Seifer continued, "Is why they called the Garden to let us know where he was before they were finished with him."  
  
"Maybe they were finished with him," Zell mumbled absently as he watched the last sliver of sunlight disappear behind the horizon.   
  
Seifer took a few seconds to reply. "You think they wanted to show us exactly what the stuff does?"  
  
"I dunno."  
  
"It would make sense; sure is a good way to get across the message that they won't back down. And it would explain the disappointing number of guards they had trying to stop us." He then pulled out Hyperion and thrashed it about a few times at the memory.   
  
Zell just shrugged. It was true; only about fifteen had been waiting for them at the exit.  
  
"They probably wanted us to get away."  
  
"Why'd they blow up our truck, then?"  
  
"Hell, I don't know. It's just a theory. Think you can do better?"  
  
"We should set up camp." Zell changed the subject again, realizing suddenly that it was really starting to get dark. He shifted and dumped his pack on the ground. "I got a tent in here."  
  
"Sounds good. Got any food in there?"  
  
"Yeah."   
  
Three Days Prior:   
  
"As I'm sure you are aware, the news of your recent development has Balamb Garden greatly concerned." Always one to get right down to business, Squall was the first to speak after cold introductions made their way around the room. His gaze shifted from one shadowed face to another: two women and one man sat across from him at a wide table in the center of an otherwise empty, silver-walled room, but beyond their genders, he was unable to learn anything of their identities. An uneasy feeling, accompanied by one of regret for not having expected it, told him that this was exactly how they wanted things to stay.  
  
"I don't see why any of our activities should concern you in the least," replied the woman on the right, a shift in her chair revealing her hair to be inky black.   
  
Squall shifted as well, turning his eyes to the file folder on the desk before him. He opened it and began rustling through the few sheets of paper -- every bit of information he had managed to gather about an infamous Galbadian resistance group who called themselves "Ebony Rapture." He didn't know why he bothered even to bring the folder at all, as he had already memorized its shallow contents-- it was amazing how many people could know of the group without knowing the slightest bit about them. He had truly expected them to have fallen beneath the radar, perhaps even disbanded, after the end of Ultimecia. The world was now at peace. Why couldn't they let it remain that way? "You obviously don't understand the Garden's position, ma'am. Mercenaries don't have the luxury of choosing their enemies, which means, of course, that there is a chance we could end up fighting you."  
  
"You have the option to ally with us," the raven-haired woman replied. "Money isn't a concern for us; name your price. By means of confidential ties, we are also able to rent space in D-Distrist prison when the need arises. Such an asset would be quite valuable to you, would it not? Most importantly, we would no longer be a..." she paused, "burden to you," she finished, her voice strangely deep.   
  
Squall balled his hands into fists. "Is that a threat?"  
  
"Of course not." The second woman, a blonde, shot her partner what looked like a warning glance from the left side of the table. Her voice was much higher. "We are simply reminding you of your options."  
  
I don't need to be reminded of my options, Squall thought. Instead of voicing his disdain, he made himself relax. "Another concern is that you may sell your newfound technology to other groups, increasing the risk of it being used."  
  
"Are you looking to buy?" Inquired the ink-haired woman, regaining her position as spokesperson.  
  
"No."  
  
"Then what is it that you want us to do?"  
  
"Discontinue your research and destroy what information and materials you have gathered." Squall released the words as though they were a bomb. "We will pay you generously for signing this contract--" he pulled a paper from the folder and placed it alone on the table "--which states that you will immediately discontinue developing G-306."  
  
The man in the centre laughed, his voice echoing off the walls for the first time since introducing himself as 'Job.' "Surely you don't expect to buy us out of pursuing the greatest bio-technological development the world has seen in more than a century? I'm sorry if we have mislead you, but although we may seem in dire needs of cash, we are not stupid."  
  
Squall's sliver of hope fell apart. "I would appreciate it if you would take a few days to consider--"  
  
"Our greatest mode of defense will not be sold for any price-- even for ownership of your Garden itself," the man closed. "If you are still bent on pursuing this, we have other ways to to persuade you."  
  
"I don't take well to threats." Heat rose in Squall's face. "Neither does Balamb Garden or its associates. I will be pursuing this. You can't convince me to do otherwise." He gathered his papers and stood. "If you'll excuse me."   
  
Squall turned his back on them, realizing a moment before the blonde muttered "Confuse" that it was one of the biggest mistakes he had ever made in his life. 


	4. Blind Game

4. Blind Game   
  
"I knew I shouldn't have let you pack."  
  
Squall stirred at the muffled words and opened his eyes, muscles tensing as it only served to remind him of his predicament. He took a deep breath and tried to relax, easing his head back onto his pillow. Pillow? Lifting a hand above his shoulders, he found leather and fuzz: his jacket. He sighed at the comfort of familiarity it brought and rubbed his cheek against it.   
  
"Sorry I couldn't find any vacuum-sealed caviar or lobster tails for your highness." It was Zell's voice now, dripping with sarcasm. "It's not like I had much choice."  
  
The sound was definitely muffled, distant. Squall crept a hand across the smooth ground and didn't have to stretch far before it pressed into taut canvas. So, they packed a tent. He congratulated them silently.  
  
"Shut the fuck up, chicken. I know for a fact that your dumb ass could have found more than shriveled-up hot dogs if you'd looked."   
  
Seifer had remained a potty-mouthed child after being accepted back into Garden. Unfortunately (not to mention surprisingly), he was an excellent leader when heading training lessons, as long as Zell didn't come along. Seifer would remain among SeeDs; would probably make his way to the top of the ranks eventually. And, he'd just rescued Squall from certain molestation and torture in the bowels of D-District. Squall promised silently that if they did manage to get back to Balamb, his rival's salary would be raised in repayment. As much as he despised Seifer's personality, he wouldn't allow it to get in the way of obvious duty, even though the biggest part of his reason for planning the raise was simply to keep Seifer from claiming to have an upper hand in being owed a favour.  
  
He wondered what time it was. Had he slept through the night to find the others rested and already awake, or was it merely evening? There were no day or night sounds in the desert to help him sense past his blindness. The air was maddeningly hot either way, and he sat up to remove his tee in response. Sweat trickled down his torso, leaving itchy trails in its wake. His shirt was soaked; he tossed it to the side and lay back down, finding less relief in its absense than he had hoped for.  
  
Sickness rose in his stomach, bringing to his attention the fact that he had been feeling relatively well when he awoke. It seemed that the intervals between pain and its disapearance were lengthening. The intensity, however, hadn't dwindled in the slightest. His head started to throb mercilessly again; he rolled to his side and pulled up his knees instinctively as an invisible hand began jumbling his insides. He ached to let out a groan and release some of his misery into the air, but nothing but laboured breath could escape his throat. A sympathetic twich in his mind reminded him that Shiva was still there, watching over him-- not that it made much difference. She made him practically immune to the cold, but could do nothing to protect him from the desert's heat or his current illness.  
  
"Hey," came Zell's voice from the direction of Squall's feet. Fabric rustled as he entered the small canvas enclosure. "I thought you'd sleep longer than this."  
  
Squall cringed as he realized he'd be unable to tell Zell to shut up once he began to blabber for Hyne knew how long. He did not want to hear voices, or any sound at all, for that matter.   
  
Zell cringed also-- his was directed at the miserable sight of Balamb Garden's fearless commander scrunched up and trembling helplessly in the fetal position, ghostly pale, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. "Geez, you look like hell."  
  
Thanks, Squall thought, becoming more bitter by the second. The hand in his gut had grown claws and hadn't lost any of its ruthlessness. He begged his body to let him pass out again, or for Zell to shut up so he could attempt to revert into his mind to dull the pain.  
  
But, no such luck.  
  
Zell sat down cross-legged beside him, facing his back. He placed the few items he had carried in with him on the floor of the tent, switching on their only flashlight and positioning it to point upwards. Squall would be curious about their werabouts, he decided. "It's only about nine o'clock. We stopped when the sun set and set up the tent, and you were already asleep, so we just put you in here so you could rest. I brought you some leftovers in case you're up for it. They're cold and kinda shriveled-- actually, they look more like big pink raisins than hotdogs, but they taste the same..." He nervously combed his fingers through the now-limp crest of his hair when Squall didn't respond. "You really should eat, y'know."  
  
Squall wanted to lash out at him for bringing up the idea of food. The thought alone had him ready to throw up again, something he wanted to avoid at all costs, as he'd need to manage his way out of the tent (probably on all fours) to do so.   
  
"At least have some water. We've got plenty; I hoarded Water spells before we left." Squall still didn't move, so he urged further. "With all the puking you've been doing, you've got to be dehydrated."  
  
Truthfully, Squall's mouth felt like it was full of sand and tasted of bile. He rolled over carefully to face the direction of Zell's voice, propped himself up on an elbow, and waited. The mouth of a canteen was soon pressed to his lips; at the delicious dampness his thirst became almost overwhelming, and he had to fight hard not to gulp down every drop. He sipped carefully as not to choke, welcoming the cleansing of that horrid taste from his mouth. After only three swallows he leaned back. His stomach disagreed with the cool splash.  
  
Zell's chest tightened with sympathy; partly for the pain Squall was likely in but more for his pitiful, needy position. "This must be like hell for you," he mumbled, not yet taking back the bottle in case Squall wanted more. "Having to depend on me so much..."  
  
It could have been worse. It could have been Seifer instead of you. Oh, was that ever the truth. It was relatively easy to accept help from someone like Zell, who had accepted it from him in turn on enough occasions. But if Seifer had come alone... he didn't want to think about the blows that would have befallen the segment of his pride that still remained if that had been the case.   
  
"Don't worry; he's not coming in here tonight," Zell assured, as if he had read Squall's mind. "He hid a flask of Sylkis in the pack before we left. Since I remembered to stock up on Waters and he doesn't have to worry about dehydrating himself, he figures it's okay to drink himself retarded. Wants to 'share a toast with the moon' or some shit. I don't know what he was talking about. The guy's a psycho, I swear."  
  
Squall was startled when Zell's last sentence ended. He had stopped hearing what he was saying half way through his speech, finding the simple sounds of his voice rather soothing. It helped him ground himself by providing a way to stay attached to his surroundings in the absence of his sight. The pain in his head and stomach was slowly dying now, giving way to an even stronger thirst. He leaned forward for the canteen but misjudged the distance; it graced the side of his face, leaving a trail of droplets across his cheek.  
  
"Crap, sorry." Zell smiled a little, readjusting his arm and carefully tipping the bottle to Squall's lips again. He reached out with his other hand and wiped the drops from Squall's cheek with his thumb, an affectionate gesture that he acted upon before considering it. Squall's swallows paused at the touch but began again shortly, the desire to drink far stronger than his surprise. "Feels like you're on fire," Zell remarked as he pulled his hand away. "You've got a mad fever there. Prob'ly past a hundred."  
  
Squall finished drinking and fell back, relaxing against his jacket's fluff. He shrugged-- it didn't matter. Nothing could be done to change it, and night would be cooling the air soon anyway. His headache had dulled to a low pulse, his stomach still uneasy but thankful for being quenched. He took a deep breath and reveled in the lack of discomfort, wondering how long he would have to wait before it returned.   
  
The harsh sound of tearing fabric filled the tent, making Squall tense with confusion. "Hold on." Zell assured just as the ripping stopped. What the hell was he doing? Water sloshed in the canteen. A second later, pure bliss fell upon Squall's forehead.   
  
"This should help," Zell mumbled, hovering over him as he ran the now-soaked chunk of his shirt across Squall's forehead. Squall reached up to take the piece of fabric from him, but the blond pressed his wrist back down with his free hand. "You, chill the hell out," he commanded with a little grin as he dragged the dripping cloth across Squall's forhead, lifting and wetting his bangs with it. "Relax and enjoy, 'cause you can bet your ass I won't be doing this when Seifer's around."  
  
Squall fought him for a second before giving in and letting his hand fall, obviously weak from the torrents of misery his body had been enduring. It was a great idea, he admitted, and very generous of Zell to destroy whatever piece of clothing he had to do this, but Squall could have continued cooling himself off on his own.  
  
Zell brought it down his temple. A slight flush returned to Squall's cheeks as he ran it across them, and he lifted his chin voluntarily as the cool therapy was wiped down his throat. Zell paused to re-wet it as an excuse to watch a few droplets slide down the side of his neck-- then shook his head in an attempt to clear it. This isn't the time, he reminded himself, feeling a little embarassed by his sudden fascination. He shifted uncomfortably, but just as he was about to continue, he made a mistake and glanced at Squall's face. He had become gorgeous, his illness barely evident. Needles of dark copper contrasted starkly with his skin as they fell over one of his closed eyes and graced a pink cheek, lips glistening below in the flashlight's soft reflected glow. Squall had always been attractive, of course, as Zell had first noticed when they joined in battle under Seifer's direction in Dollet. Attraction had fallen by the wayside of friendship some time ago. But now, Squall was striking, and he was sure any idiot who could have seen him at that moment would have agreed. Even Seifer... he frowned at the reminder of the man outside and strained his ears. He heard a soft 'hic' but no movement, a good sign. The last thing he wanted was for Seifer to come in and see this. Shit, now I'm being territorial, Zell sighed and brought a hand to his forehead. Still, he couldn't deny it. He wanted this vision completely for himself.   
  
Squall shifted, bringing him out of thoughts and startling him into squeezing the soaked cloth. Droplets splashed to Squall's stomach, spreading like small sunflowers across old scars and shallow curves that reacted by twitching, tightening inviluntarily at the jolt. Zell blinked and quickly wiped the sun patterns away, blushing at the feel of taut abdominal muscles beneath the thin formality of cloth. He cleared his throat and mumbled "Sorry..." To his surprise, the edges of Squall's lips turned up.  
  
Nervousness, or possibly embarassment, was obvious in the quiver of Zell's voice, and Squall couldn't help but allow himself to grin. The blond had never been very good at concealing emotions. And what was he sorry for? But it didn't matter now, as he was covering Squall's torso with cold water and keeping him from thinking in straight lines. This was so nice of him. So very, very nice. He felt like falling asleep-- and peacefully this time, rather than the pain-induced fainting that he was getting accustomed to.   
  
Zell chewed at the corner of his lip, drawing a spot of blood when Squall's nipples tightened to hard buds. He blinked tightly and decided to go for a safer route. Slowly he took Squall's nearest hand and peeled away the leather glove, not realizing until he had set it aside and saw the Griever ring shining on his middle finger that he had never before seen Squall's hands. Slender and almost feminine, this part of his body was completely devoid of callouses and unscarred by battle. He gulped. Maybe this hadn't been a safer route after all.  
  
Squall almost jerked his hand away at the cold touch that befell his fingers. Years of wearing gloves almost contantly had made them sensitive to temperature (his showers were always comfortably lukewarm), and even more sensitive to the touch of another human being. He had held hands gloveless with Rinoa once-- where was she now? Probably back in Deling, but he wasn't sure-- and that was all. It had been an intimate gesture, one for which he had reluctantly volunteered, that had taken place in the throes of a passion he preferred not to remember. After that single night, he had lost all feeling for her, and without an explanation to himself or anyone else, he ended their relationship. He knew that they were never supposed to be together, that he had been seventeen and horny and curious, and when his urges were finally satiated, they disappeared with his supposed love.   
  
Yet still, the warm touch of Zell's hand on his, magnified by the contrasting cool water, reminded him of physical sensations in a way that few other people would understand. He mentally fought the heat now beginning to build up in his groin, feeling somewhat ashamed at his compelled reacton and hoping Zell wouldn't notice. He wanted to take his hand back, but found himself fighting that urge as well. The blond had begun paying individual attention to each of his fingers, drawing the cloth around and between them, not missing a spot. A few drops tickled their way down his arm and he shivered.   
  
Although Squall's expression had returned to its usual statuesque blankness, the blush on his cheeks had become quite dark. Zell paused for a second to stare, incredulous at the involuntary reaction to his touches. Curious about how Squall was handling this, he asked quietly, "Like that?" His eyes turned to saucers when Squall responded by letting his head fall to the side and taking a deep, shuddery breath. His eyelids tightened and relaxed once--that was an affirmative if Zell had ever seen one. He bared tiny fangs in a grin and hoped to Hyne he wouldn't be hit for what he was about to do.   
  
Squall's eyes flashed open uselessly as the tip of his index finger was suddenly enveloped by soft heat. He lifted his head and tried to jerk his hand back, but Zell was already tightly gripping his wrist. Rough fingers began massaging his palm as that finger was taken all the way into Zell's mouth, tastebuds tickling along it-- he gave up and let his head fall back, swallowing a few times and trying to clear his head. This, Rinoa hadn't done. It was new, it was suggestive, it was wonderfully distracting.   
  
Relieved at the relaxed permission of Squall's arm, Zell switched to the next water-slick finger and began sucking ruthlessly, drinking up every drop of water and sighing when Squall twitched within his mouth. He felt hiself stir as Squall's expression became more revealing, the pale blue of his eyes rolled blindly upwards, lips parted. He caught startling but subtle movement in the corner of his eye, the shift of his gaze revealing a second minute upwards thrust of Squall's hips, marked by an obvious bulge. He smiled around him and playfully tugged at his ring with his teeth.  
  
"What th'eck isthis?" Zell dropped Squall's hand and spun around to face the tent's entrance. Seifer's head was poking through, his eyes glazed, a strange dopey grin on his face. "Youhavin' fun wuthout me?"  
  
Zell scowled at him. Give it to Seifer to be a whiny drunk. "Get the hell back outside. You're plastered." It was incredibly satisfying to be so commanding of him.  
  
"But I'm tiiired..." Seifer whined comically, slowly crawling his way back into the tent. "I wanna go ta bed now."  
  
"Then sleep out there. I'm not staying up all night to make sure you don't puke all over the tent." He picked up Seifer's bedroll and threw it at him just as the drunken man was trying to stand up. The force of it hitting his chest tipped him backwards, so that he landed sprawled on his back, half inside and half outside the tent. "Ow..."   
  
Zell couldn't help but laugh. He wished he'd brought a comcorder along-- no amount of gil could be placed on the vaule of such a blackmailing tool. "I'll be right back," he mumbled to Squall, patting his arm and standing. He took hold of Seifer's feet and flipped them out the doorway, then exited into the cool night air-- it was quite warm inside the tent, he realized-- and unrolled the sleeping bag on top of the sand. "There. Go to sleep. And you better not bitch about your hangover in the morning."  
  
"Wh'ever," Seifer mumbled as he crawled over to his makeshift bed. He flopped down onto his back, crossed his arms, and sulked.   
  
"And don't move from that spot, or else I'll take your flask and hide it so you won't be able to have any more."  
  
A quiet "Asshole," was the response. Seifer's head was already lolling to the side. He'd be asleep within minutes. Zell smiled triumphantly and ducked back into the tent. Instantly, his stomach dropped into his shoes-- Squall was curled up on his side again, his back and shoulders tense.  
  
"Aw, shit." He had almost forgotten that the fury Squall's ailment would return, and it made him feel guilty. "You alright?"  
  
Squall nodded, denying the obvious. He kept trying to tell himself to get used to this, that it would be returning for days now until they got back home. On the wake of Zell's attention, however, the pain only seemed magnified.   
  
"Here..." Zell unrolled his own sleeping mat behind him and lay on it, facing his back, and switched off the flashlight. He couldn't risk falling asleep with it left on, as they had only brought one extra set of batteries. He reached around Squall's waist and lightly pressed his hand to his stomach, feeling him relax almost instantly beneath his fingers. "Concentrate on me instead," he advised softly as he started to play soft circles with his fingers. He rested his forehead against the back of Squall's neck as the brunette's breath quickened to short laboured gasps and cringed sympathetically at the sound, hating his inability to do more. After a few minutes, Squall's bare hand met the back of his, pressing it tighter against him and keeping it still. His grip didn't falter until the pain subsided, and Zell had already fallen into deep sleep. 


	5. Solitude

5. Solitude   
  
Squall spent the night on a roller coaster of pain. The intervals in which he managed to get some light sleep were interrputed each time by the churning of his stomach and pounding in his head. Time stood completely still. Only the sound of Zell's breathing beside him kept him grounded, and when that became too quiet, or the pain became too loud, he felt like he no longer existed; only hurt existed.   
  
Zell's hand fell from his side early on in the night. On a number of occasions he considered waking him up, just to hear him ramble. Every time, however, he fought the idea-- they would likely be walking for the entirety of the next day. It would be unfair to ask Zell to stay up with him just because he was already being forced to himself. His mind kept bothering him with memories and a desire to be comforted or distracted, though, and eventually he gave in. The turn onto his other side was only a little painful, and the relief it brought was definitely worth it. He reached out carefully and placed his hand atop Zell's again, then curled his fingers beneath the blond's palm. He sighed when he found Zell's pulse in his wrist with his thumb, thankful to have the tiny beat to use when he needed to keep himself level.  
  
He fell asleep in the absence of pain and awoke with it raging four more times. Rather than becoming used to it, his expectations fell in a different direction. He found himself hoping, upon every welcome return of normalcy, that the pain wouldn't come back again. Maybe this time, or that time, it would be over. It would have to end eventually; it would have to, or he would go completely insane. He was exhausted, and it wouldn't let him sleep, aside from a few minutes at a time that only served to tease him. How many more nights would he have to endure this? What if, once they returned home, nothing could be done for him? He knew, though it was hard to fully admit it to himself, that what he had been injected with was possibly permanent. Maybe he was doomed to spend the rest of his life in agony, an invalid, driven insane by the deprivation of sight and the inability to communicate his suffering to others.   
  
There was also a chance they would meet a difficult pack of chimaeras and never get back home-- and if it weren't for Zell and Seifer's company, he would have found this a much more preferrable option. As easy as it was to wish death upon himself, he couldn't bear being responsible for seeing them meet the same fate.   
  
He fell under the spell and emerged twice more, coming out of the last with a new conviction: he had to find a pen and paper. He would get them from Zell in the morning, or write with his finger in the sand if he had to. A dreadful realization had come to him-- he was slowing the others down as they tried to save his now-worthless life. The G-308 serum probably was permanent; that had to be the final trait to make it so valuable in the eyes of Ebony Rapture. He would kill himself upon returning anyway. How could he ask them to risk their own lives for that?  
  
But why wait? He would ask for death now; hopefully it would come before another bout of agony. Only a few scribbles in the sand, and it would be done. He chuckled silently and cynically; Seifer would probably take great pleasure in such an opportunity. He gave Zell's wrist a light squeeze, taking a bit of comfort in the jump beneath his fingers, and let go. It would be best not to wake Zell at all. He, unlike Seifer, was too soft to handle what was coming. He got to his knees and crawled towards to doorway, feeling his way along the canvas until he came to its end, and made it out into the cool air.   
  
Seifer straightened as Squall emerged and sat up, crossing his legs. "I thought I'd be the only one getting up with the sun today. Figured your romp with Zell would have you a bit more tuckered out."   
  
Squall jumped at the sound of Seifer's voice. So, the sun was rising-- he had thought it was still night. He wanted to straighten things out and explain that no, he and Zell had not slept together in more than a literal sense, but Zell would be up soon-- there was no time for conversation. He got down to business. Reaching out, he trailed his finger through the cool grains of sand as legibly as he could. 'KILL ME NOW.'  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" Genuinely confused, Seifer got up and crouched beside him to see the letters right side up. Once he read them, he chuckled. "Having a tough time of it, are you?"  
  
Squall scowled. Seifer obviously didn't understand the weight of his request. With a brush of his hand he wiped out the words and replaced them with 'NOT KIDDING.' He raised his face in Seifer's direction, hoping he would see the seriousness of his expression.  
  
Seifer shook his head, wincing at the pain of his own alcohol-induced headache. He sighed loudly to make sure Squall would hear it and flopped tiredly onto his bottom on the sand. "You've always been a coward, Squall, but when did you get this pitiful?"  
  
Squall pounded his fist into his scribbled words. This was not going as he had planned. He let his head loll forwards for a few seconds and then wrote, 'YOU WANT TO.' To his dismay, Seifer laughed again.  
  
"What, you think I want to kill you just because you piss me off?" Seifer wanted to slap him. Perhaps G-308 induced hallucinations as a side effect.   
  
The brunette nodded. 'EASY.'  
  
"I sure do love kicking the shit out of you in the training centre-- that's really easy-- but killing you when you're like this would give me about as much satisfaction as lopping the head off a corpse." What the hell was Squall's problem? He had to admit, this was very unlike him. He had never been under a cast of Pain himself, though he had been poisoned on a number of occasions, and the discomfort from that had never been bad enough to make him want to die. Of course, at the same time, he had never been poisoned for more than about an hour. He glanced over when Squall's hand started moving again.  
  
'SLOW YOU DOWN.'  
  
"So? Big deal." Seifer couldn't help feeling a bit touched by those words. Squall was partly concerned for him? It was difficult to believe. "You're the whole reason we came on this mission in the first place. And when we get back, you'll go see Kadowaki, and probably get a nice long vacation for your trouble, and everything will be fine again. You need to chill the fuck out and--" He cut himself off. Squall was already scribbling again, moving faster so that some of his letters overlapped one another.  
  
'INCURABLE.'  
  
Seifer stared and swallowed. If that was true, he couldn't blame Squall for wanting to die. His voice softened. "What, you know something we don't?"  
  
Squall shook his head. 'ITS OBVIOUS.'  
  
Seifer scoffed, relieved, but also frustrated. "So you're just speculating? Grow a backbone, for fuck sakes. Deal with it. You're acting like you're delusional. Besides, I can't kill you anyway. In case you've forgotten, most countries would label my killing you as 'murder.' I'm not gonna go to prison for the sake of your fucking cowardice."  
  
Squall had begun to shake, partly out of frustration, and partly because his stomach was churning again. Who the hell did Seifer think he was? If he only knew what it meant to go through this. He would have been a quivering mass of self-pity if this had been done to him instead. His finger drew squiggles in his threat, 'ILL DO IT THEN.'  
  
"Yeah, right. One, Zell has your gunblade hidden somewhere, and two, you wouldn't have the fucking guts."  
  
'SO IM A COWARD IF I DO' -- he rubbed that line away to start the next-- 'AND IM GUTLESS IF I DONT?'  
  
"Yup, that's pretty much it," Seifer dismissed, "Why don't you go back to bed and--" He cut off with a surprised choke as Squall lunged for him, knocking him onto his back. Shocked by the sudden burst of energy, he didn't fight back at first, but as Squall's hand searched hurriedly around his waist, he realized he was going for Hyperion. "Oh no you don't--" but it was too late. Squall had grasped the hilt and was already flying backwards off of him, swiftly unsheathing the blade. Seifer shot back up into a sitting position to find Squall on his back, holding it tightly to his throat.   
  
Squall was angrier than he remembered being in a long time, and it was his fuel. You don't think I will? The words screamed in his head; he longed to shout them out loud. If for no other reason, he now wanted to do it simply to make Seifer regret his words-- they had stung him more deeply than he usually permitted, and the thought of causing the ruthless blond even a sliver of pain at the cost of his own life was frighteningly appealing. He was weak, and holding up the heavy blade was difficult. His hand trembled violently with the weight as gravity pulled it down against his throat. A sharp sting told him when it broke his skin, and the hot, slow trickle of blood down the side of his neck confirmed that the cut was relatively deep.  
  
Less than a second later, the blade wasn't so heavy any more. Seifer's voice fell to his ears from above him, his tone awfully soft. "Alright, fuck, I believe you. Ease up..." Squall's fingers were trembling too hard to even grasp it anymore. With a combination of relief and defeated regret, he let go.   
  
Seifer tossed Hyperion the few necessary feet onto his bed mat, unsure if Squall would go for his waist again. He remained standing, staring down at the quivering lump of despair beneath him. He wondered if he should apologize, but quickly shot down the thought. This was Squall's doing. An apology wasn't owed.   
  
With great effort, Squall pushed on the ground until he sat up. Whether it was just the right time, or if his outburst had brought it on early, he wasn't sure, but the pain in his head and gut was returning. He rested his elbows on his knees, curling forward to cover his face with his hands as he tried to quell the horrified heaving of his chest. His face burned with embarassment and leftover anger. Daggers stabbed out from behind his eyes. Before he even had the mind to fight them, tears began to soak his hands. His breath shuddered; he choked on a sob.   
  
It took a while for Seifer to relize that Squall was crying, as he did it so discreetly, and when he did the only thing that could escape his mouth was a chain of "Fuck... fuck fuck fuck..." He sat down with crossed legs in his panic, completely clueless as to how to react. He didn't have the heart to call Squall a baby-- Squall never cried. Never, even at the worst of his injuries, or the most embarassing losses in training. A wave of realization hit him square in the chest. They weren't supposed to be competing, out there, in the middle of the desert. Not like that; not with Squall so much more physically (and now obviously emotionally) vulnerable than he was. Habit had brought out the taunts. Now he was ashamed. What was he now, twenty-two? And still acting like a disgruntled fifteen-year-old? He sighed and reached out. "C'mere."  
  
Initially, Squall fought the sudden pressure at the back of his head. "I said fucking come here." With that Seifer succeeded in pulling Squall's head to rest in his lap. Squall responded with a hiccup and turned onto his side, never removing his hands from his face. He was more embarassed than he had ever been in his life. What was he doing, letting Seifer try to comfort him this way? Although they were allies professionaly, in a personal sense, they were enemies. Always had been, always would be. Seifer would use this against him later. He knew it, even as that hand behind his head wove its fingers through his hair, petting him almost lovingly. It was a ruse; it had to be. Seifer did not act like this. Against the will of his conflicting thoughts, he turned his head and buried his face in the rough fabric covering Seifer's shins. Yes, he would use this against him, but it was worth it.  
  
"You tired?" Seifer's voice remained rough, as if fighting off a revealing tone. Squall nodded against him, smearing tears on his pants. "You should have just asked for help, you stubborn shit. Sleep." The spell washed over Squall like a caress, absorbing into and relaxing every muscle in his body until it made its way to his head. He gave up his consciousness willingly.   
  
When it was obvious that Squall's consciousness was lost, Seifer chuckled. "You better be thankful. That was my last one." He looked up to catch the first sliver of the rising sun, and noticed something out of place by the entrance of the tent. Zell was staring with silent awe, eyes and mouth wide open. His arms hung limply at his sides. "And what do you want, Chickenshit? Or should I call you 'Chickenslut' now?"  
  
Zell's mouth closed and opened, fishlike, before he squinted, finally understanding the words. "What the hell do you mean by that?"  
  
"Don't try to kid me, I know what went on in there last night. I know why you kicked me out."  
  
Zell crossed his arms. "I kicked you out because you were drunk. As for what went on, we slept. Is that a frickin' crime?"  
  
"Slept? What about those not-so-discreet little 'oohs' and 'ahs' that kept meeting my ears, hm?" He grinned knowingly.  
  
A look of pure confusion befell Zell's face. "Uh... Seifer, there weren't any. Squall was sick again after I threw you out. We went. To. Sleep. You've really got to stop believing all your drunken wet dreams and start accepting them for what they are."  
  
If it weren't for the Squall resting peacefully in his lap, Seifer would have jumped up and let him have it. "Shut the fuck up, unless you want Hyperion to find a home in your--"  
  
"It doesn't matter anyway; I want to know what the hell I missed out here that got his head into your lap."  
  
"Jealous, are we?"  
  
"No, just really frickin' curious."  
  
"Let's just say our favourite emo kid here got into a particularly unbearable bout of woe-is-me and tried to off himself."  
  
Zell took a step forward, hands drawn to fists in anger. "WHAT?"  
  
"You heard me. He asked me to kill him, I said no, he stole Hyperion from me, and this--" he pointed to Squall's throat "-- was the result. He probably would have finished it if I hadn't stopped him."  
  
Zell came over and crouched to get a better look. "You did this," he accused darkly, angered and frightened by the bloody stain already drying across pale skin. "Squall is blind and dumb, not to mention sick. He couldn't have stolen Hyperion from you himself... unless you wanted him to."  
  
Seifer rolled his eyes. "Oh, bullshit. The last thing I want is to have Hyperion attached to a fucking murder. You think I want that on my head? As I told him earlier, I'm not going to jail. I know you don't really think I'd try to kill him."  
  
Zell's furious stare softened as he lowered his head to look at Squall again. He sighed. "I guess not." After a pause, his voice grew louder. "I should have stayed up and watched him. I had no idea this would happen."   
  
"Yeah, well, neither did I. Get over it."  
  
"Why is he sleeping?"  
  
"I figured it would be nice to put the kid out of his misery in a more humane fashion," Seifer replied. "I have a feeling he didn't sleep much last night."  
  
Zell plopped down on the ground then and carefully turned Squall's head to get a better look at his face. He found the confirmation of what he had expected-- red, blotchy, and tear-streaked, and it dropped a stone into his stomach. "He was... crying," he observed, frightened as he realized the full weight of the confrontation he had missed.   
  
"Yeah... I didn't want to tell you. Don't tell him you know, okay? He might get upset again."  
  
Zell's head jerked upwards. "Oh, and what's this? Seif's being a softy?"  
  
"Shut the fuck up." 


	6. Speak No Evil

6. Speak No Evil   
  
By the time Seifer and Zell finished packing up the tent and eased a sleeping Squall back into his t-shirt and stray glove (on Zell's insistance), the sun had fully passed the horizon. To Zell's surprise, Seifer offered to carry him again, reasoning aloud that Zell would end up dragging his head in the sand because of his height-- technically his lack thereof. Zell grumbled but didn't outwardly disagree, hands shoved in his pockets as they started to walk. Neither of them spoke until the middle of the day.  
  
"Hey, Seif... uh, where are we going, anyway? I mean, is there a plan?"  
  
"Where do you think? Winhill's the only town within a five day hike, unless you feel like crossing the continent."  
  
"Sounds good."  
  
"Of course, we might not have to walk that long. Our Garden friends know something's gone wrong. Those trucks send out signals when they get wrecked."  
  
"Yeah, I know that.... But you know they're tied up fixing Trabia. They won't interrupt all that just to pick up three people."  
  
"They'd interrupt it to pick up their commander. Squall's a precious commodity." Seifer grinned and patted one of the sleep-limp legs that draped over his shoulder. "Didn't you know?"  
  
Zell flushed unexpectedly. "Yeah... I know."  
  
Suddenly, the aforementioned precious commodity began to wiggle. It began as small shifts that could have been blamed on a dream, which Seifer ignored until a sharp whack met his lower back. "What the hell? Dammit..." He flipped Squall over and placed him in the burning sand. "What's wrong now?"  
  
Squall stood up indignantly and held out his hand. Despite the scowl on his face, he was feeling better, physically, than he had since before he had awoken in D-District.  
  
"I think he wants to try walking on his own." Zell observed. Squall nodded sharply.   
  
"Fuck that. He'll exhaust himself and pass out." Seifer was already quite tired from carrying him, however, and the prospect sounded like a very good one.  
  
"Shut up, Squall knows his limits. He's not stupid." Zell ignored Seifer's reply --a scoff-- and plucked the canteen from his waist and handed it to Squall, who took it and drank eagerly. "You really think you can handle it, though?"  
  
Squall wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gave back the canteen, responding with another nod.  
  
"Alright... lemme know if you get too tired, though." Zell adjusted his backpack, took his hand and gave it a supportive squeeze. "I'll lead. Let's go."  
  
Squall stumbled only twice that afternoon. The first time was because of another bout of discomfot-- and he could call it that easily now. The duration of the poison-attacks were shortening with more time between them. It seemed the Regen that battled them was finally winning, and the relief it brought him was invigorating. Seifer's Sleep spell had done his body more good than he could have hoped for-- he felt full of energy, hardly ever falling out of step with the others. The sun beat down hard and the sand seemed to be melting its way through his boots, but a part of him didn't feel it, because he could look forward to resting that evening and to getting back home in a few days. His breakdown had given him a much needed way to vent his frustrations, and although he was ashamed of his childish actions, he was partly thankful for it. He felt as though his system had been flushed of an entirely different poison than that which ailed him physically.   
  
Thinking of that botched suicide attempt-- he blamed such motivation on temporary insanity and tried hard to fluff it off -- brought him inevitably to pondering Seifer's surprising response. A tingle spread through back of his neck as he remembered the strong hand against his scalp that forced him to subdue to a comfort he couldn't have asked for himself. He had broken, giving the man the perfect opportunity to kick him while at his weakest and forever have the upper hand in their constant state of competition. Yet, he didn't take it, choosing instead to show a weakness of his own. Seifer had exposed a caring shard of himself that Squall had never seen. He had learned much about Seifer that morning with one simple gesture, and the thought brought an unidentifiable (but definitely not uncomfortable) twinge to his stomach.  
  
That twinge reminded him of another like it, one that Zell had stirred within him. So, -- he hid a tiny smile at the thought -- the little blond admired him for more than his leadership skills. Even without the comfort (that was the most provocative word he could use for it, as he attempted to keep from arousing himself) he had recieved the night before, the current unfaltering grip on his hand and intermittent light squeezes would have told him so.   
  
His second stumble came when the sun was just beginning to set, due to exhaustion and triggered by his paying too much attention to one of Zell and Seifer's uneventful bickering matches. His face would have met the sand had Zell not lunged forward and grabbed him around the waist.   
  
"We're stopping now," Zell commanded as soon as Squall was properly re-balanced on his feet.   
  
Seifer shrugged in passive agreement, throwing the pack to the ground with a heavy thud. "No argument here, I'm fucking tired. We should have slept all day and walked at night. We probably would have traveled twice as far."  
  
"Yeah," Zell crouched and began drawing the rolled tent from the pack, "but then we'd be waking up now, and we'd still have to walk for eight more hours, and that would suck." He pulled out his sleeping bag and unrolled it. "Here, Squall, you lay down while we set up."  
  
Squall wanted to tell him he was fine-- he was queasy and his legs quivered as he tried to hold himself up, but he really wanted to help pitch the tent. He lowered to the ground anyway, letting Zell guide him downward with a hand on eash side of his waist, and reminded himself that he would have just gotten in the way. He cursed his helplessness as his cheek hit the cool fabric-- he was so damn tired of lacking control. He was tired of being carried, of being led, of needing help with everything he did aside from breathe. And when he wanted to scream with frustration, he couldn't do that either. An energy was building within him, one he didn't know how to relieve. Walking all afternoon sure hadn't relieved it, though his limbs felt like jelly with exertion. He yawned, the act revealing just how dry and sticky his mouth was. He reached out an arm for the pack and grabbed onto the first strap he touched.  
  
"What's up Squall, you need something?" Within three seconds, Zell had come over to kneel beside him. Seifer cussed as the tent fell in his absence, but Zell ignored him. "You hungry? Thirsty?"  
  
Squall nodded, a response to both options. His stomach growled loudly at the mention of food-- he hadn't eaten in... what, two days? Maybe longer. Now that he was in the mood to keep something down, he couldn't ignore it.   
  
"Okay, here..." Zell took the canteen from the pack's front pocket and handed it to him. With lightly shaking fingers, he carefully reached out and stroked Squall's hair as he drank.   
  
Squall closed his eyes at the touch, sending him silent thanks. Maybe -- he took a final gulp and handed it back -- maybe Zell would try to distract him from the situation again that night. If he didn't, maybe Squall himself would have to take the initiative. He shuddered pleasantly, only half-angry at the way his mind allowed itself to wander.   
  
"Hey, Seif," Zell called over his shoulder, "think you can finish the tent yourself?"  
  
"Yeah, sure, no problem," Seifer growled, "Now that you dropped the poles and tangled it up, it should be a piece of fucking cake."  
  
"Good," Zell replied lightheartedly, unfazed by the sarcasm, "I'm gonna try actually cooking the food tonight." He rustled through the pack, throwing the other two sleeping bags to the side.   
  
"And how the hell are you going to do that? We don't have anything to use for fuel."  
  
"I have a plan, don't you worry." Zell fished three wrinkly foil packets from the bottom of the bag and tossed them onto the sand twelve feet away. "Watch this. Fire." He grinned as flames engulfed the silver raisins for a split second, then hopped his way over to them. He hissed loudly as he tried to pick one up and, having learned his lesson, kicked them the rest of the way over to rest beside Squall.  
  
"Those things should have exploded," Seifer remarked, surprised.  
  
"Yeah... I think they almost did," Zell replied as a buildup of steam forced open a corner of one of the packets at his feet. "Good thing I did it from far away." He dropped into a sitting position and opened it the rest of the way, grinning widely as steam enveloped his face. "Wow, that smells so effing good. You better get over here, or I'll end up eating 'em all myself." The threat was far from exaggerated.   
  
Seifer managed to hook the final pole in place before kneeling by the others. Carefully opening his own, he waited for it to cool. Zell handed Squall the one he had already opened, warning with a "careful," to keep him from burning himself, then took to the third.   
  
The slippery hotdog burned his fingers, but Squall didn't wait. He stuffed it into his mouth and chewed only a few times before swallowing. Despite the numbing burn to his tongue and throat, he did the same with the second and third that the package contained.   
  
Seifer and Zell stared incredulously at one another. "I didn't even start, and you're finished," Zell observed, his jaw slack.  
  
Squall just wiped his palms on his pants and smugly fell back down onto the sleeping bag. He had eaten three hotdogs faster than Zell. It felt good to have broken his record.  
  
"Do you want more?" Zell asked around the food in his mouth, "I could--"  
  
"It doesn't matter how hungry he is; we have to ration." Seifer reminded sternly as he finished the second third of his own meal.   
  
Zell hung his head. "Yeah..." he took a deep breath, "Here." The word came out a lot more reluctantly than it should have as he thrust his fist forward, nudging Squall in the shoulder. Squall shook his head. "Take it before I change my mind. It's my last one."  
  
Squall shrugged and finally let Zell drop the plump tubesteak into his hand. He ate more slowly, his famished state mostly satiated. Once all the food had disappeared, the trio sat in silence for a few minutes, Zell and Seifer watching the sun complete its disappearance while Squall just lay and relaxed, enjoying his full belly. Seifer was the first to move-- he got up and spread out the other two sleeping bags in the tent, leaving room between them for the third. Looking around, he realized that it would be cramped with all three of them inside it. He removed his coat, goosebumps drawing on his arms as they met the rapidly cooling air, and folded it to use as a pillow. He lay down, stretching with his arms behind his head. "You guys had better get in here soon. We'll be walking just as long tomorrow, of not longer. I'll only kick you twice before I throw you out and leave without you."  
  
"Okay," Zell called, rolling his eyes. "He's so damn bossy," he grumbled with a lowered voice, "Pisses me off." After a long pause, he said, "Look, Squall, I've gotta talk to you." Squall turned his head toward him to display that he was listening. "I, uhh..." He swallowed, suddenly nervous, as if he didn't have a right to say what he was about to. "I missed what happened this morning... but Seifer told me. And--" He cut himself off as Squall's expression tightened. "No, listen."   
  
In spite of his pleas, Squall rolled over and put his back to him. He didn't want to hear this. The fact that Zell knew about it brought a new wave of regret and embarassment over him-- but then, what could he have expected? Seifer wouldn't make up a story so he could save face; that was hoping for too much.   
  
Zell continued as if fueled by the rejection, shifting forward so his knees brushed Squall's back. His voice became a near whisper as he leaned over him. "Whatever made you want to do that... I don't need to know. But... but you need to know that, well, you were wrong."  
  
_Zell, I know, I fucking know already, I was being stupid..._ No matter how much Squall's thoughts raged, he knew they wouldn't stop him.  
  
"And people would really miss you. And... and," Zell rested a hand on Squall's shoulder, squeezing lightly as he tried to control his stuttering. "And I would really, really miss you." His heart thundered as he waited for a response. Recieving none (although he could have sworn Squall's pulse jumped beneath his hand), he continued. "I mean, Seif told me about it, and I didn't believe him right away... He'd be more likey to do that than you would, so it took a while to realize that he hadn't done it. I was so surprised." His head fell forward. "You... Squall, you scared the shit out of me. I mean... I mean--"  
  
_Stop._ Squall rolled to lay on his back again, Zell's hand remaining on his shoulder so that the movement brought their faces within a few inches of one another. He found the location of Zell's lips when the blond's breath brushed over his own, and closed the distance in an instant. Yep, this shut him up alright. Zell made a muffled, high-pitched sound in his surprise as Squall's hands slid around the back of his neck, bringing him closer so he could tip back onto the sleeping bag without breaking the kiss.   
  
After his initial shock subsided, Zell braced his elbows on either side of Squall's head and took it upon himself to deepen the kiss, running the tip of his tongue across the seam of Squall's lips. They parted right away beneath the silent request, but didn't allow him to enter. Squall tackled Zell's tongue with his own until the blond gave in, allowing Squall to hungrily explore his mouth. Zell was dazed; he couldn't believe Squall would want this, and then initiate it-- it was just too perfect. He breathed deeply, taking in Squall's scent, and eased back until the kiss broke. Although he knew Squall couldn't see him, he ducked his head reflexively, limp bangs brushing Squall's cheek. "I should have been there for you," he whispered, "I should have been awake to stop you."  
  
Squall leaned up and trailed kisses from the corner of his mouth to his ear, the only concievable way he could think of to assure him that it didn't matter. He then trailed a hand down to the hem of Zell's pants and along it to the front button, where he stopped. Zell gasped at the blunt move. "What, you wanna do this out here? Seif'll hear us."  
  
_Let him,_ Squall wanted to say. The deprivation of his sight had left his senses frustrated, and now a taste of sensation had awoken a hunger he could barely control. It didn't matter who heard. He didn't care.  
  
"Actually, he'd just hear me," Zell corrected himself. "But you... you really want... this?" Squall assured him with a tug, undoing the button, and Zell shivered. "It's getting cold out here," he observed. "Let's just... let's get this part over with quick and get in that sleeping bag." He sat up and rubbed his arms, then removed his torn tank top after catching Squall's agreeing nod.   
  
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I kinda hate doing this, but, I gotta cut it off now. To finish chapter 6 and continue on through chapters 7-13 (which are so full of sex that I won't bother trying to cut pieces out), click:

EDIT: Okay, so the link won't show up. I link to my AFF user page in my info if you want to go there, or copy, paste and fix this:

adultfan(dot)nexcess(dot)net(slash)aff(slash)story.php?no=21875&chapter=6

Sorry about all the trouble.

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